The Good Sisters. Helen Phifer

to the spot and she let out a shriek. On the wall above the light switch, there were three wooden crosses all hanging in a row. She had been in here earlier and there wasn’t anything on the freshly painted wall then.

      How had they got up here? The very first thing she’d done the day she moved her sparse belongings here had been to go around with a cardboard box and take down every single cross and crucifix that had been dotted around the house, because they completely freaked her out. She had then taken the full box outside to the shed around the side of the house, not wanting to throw them away because it didn’t seem the right thing to do. She had quite happily pushed the sellotaped box into the side of the shed and left it there.

      So who the fuck had put these up on her freshly painted walls? If they thought it was some kind of joke they could think again. She crossed the room and slammed the sash window down a little too hard. Minute pieces of wood splintered off and fell to the floor with the impact. Bugger, she needed to be more careful. A whole houseful of new windows wasn’t on her list of priorities. Not until she had to anyway. The plan was to only replace the ones that wouldn’t open or were broken; the rest would be taken care of when the money started to come in.

      She walked over, about to pull the crosses from the wall, when she realised how dark it was outside, how late it was and how no matter how brave she felt she wasn’t walking around to the shed at this time of night. Instead she walked out of the room, turning off the light and shutting the door firmly behind her with her trembling hands.

      She needed a drink. Turning on the landing light now, she switched off the torch, not wanting to drain the batteries. The upstairs landing looked so much better bathed in light. She would need to have some wall lights fitted or at least a couple of side tables and lamps that were kept on all night so the guests wouldn’t get freaked out by the darkness.

      Kate let out a sigh. She’d never even considered anything like this. It was a much bigger project than she’d realised. It wouldn’t be half as stressful if Amy was still here to help her. Hot, salty tears filled her eyes. She missed her friend so much since she’d died six months ago. She didn’t think she’d ever really laughed since. Well, not like the pair of them used to – setting the world to rights over a couple of bottles of wine. Amy would say something funny and they would laugh until the tears rolled from their eyes.

      Kate wondered if anyone would ever make her laugh like that again. She certainly hadn’t had anything to laugh about lately. She found herself downstairs in the huge kitchen that was an empty shell apart from the fridge, microwave and a battered old pine table with three chairs. She opened the fridge and pulled out the vodka. She didn’t want to sit around drinking a glass of wine. She needed an extra-large shot of something strong that would knock her out.

      Grabbing a wine glass off the end of the table where what little cutlery and kitchen essentials she owned were stacked, she filled it to the top with vodka, emptying the bottle. Leaving the bottle on the table she went back to her room, sipping the vodka as she went. She didn’t want to spill any and waste a single drop.

      She left the lamp on. It was staying on. The thought that she should be checking the house filled her mind. She wasn’t that brave. If someone wanted to break in and put up crosses on the wall, they could get on with it. There wasn’t anything apart from the builder’s tools worth stealing. She knew the scratching was probably mice or worse still, rats. Ollie would deal with them for her. She might have even imagined the footsteps, because Ethan or Jack had probably put the crosses on the wall before they left for some kind of joke. They weren’t to know that they’d freak her out. In fact, it made perfect sense and she convinced herself that was what had happened.

      Ollie could deal with those two as well as her vermin problem, and sanity would be restored to her life once more. She looked at her lonely bed. God what she’d give to have someone lying in there waiting to wrap their arms around her. She was so bloody sick of being on her own. As she sat down on the bed, she lifted the glass to her lips, closed her eyes and then drank it down. She coughed and spluttered as the neat vodka burnt its way down her throat, filling her with warmth. Her head began to feel muzzy.

      Putting the glass on the bedside table she climbed back in, feeling sick as the room started spinning. She muttered to herself: Too much, Kate. One of these days you’re going to kill yourself – and a part of her wondered if that would be such a bad thing. The last few days, she’d had fleeting moments of despair at how much work needed to be done before they could open the house for business, followed by mild anxiety attacks. She’d never been one to suffer with her nerves, but she’d go into certain rooms or parts of the house and her stomach would start to fill with butterflies for no particular reason, which was unsettling her. She’d think about the huge project that she’d taken on and brush the feelings away as anxiety.

      She had no one who wanted her. Maybe dying would be the best thing for her – even though the thought of leaving her girls terrified her. Just then, her eyes closed as she finally fell asleep.

      Upstairs, the footsteps that had paused continued from room to room, looking for something that had been lost a very long time ago, but Kate was oblivious to it all.

      ***

      Ollie let himself in with the spare key that Kate had given to him. He was much earlier than usual, but he wanted to get the next room finished. He had told himself that if he managed to get two bedrooms up and running, with the bathrooms plumbed in, then maybe Kate could have her daughters over to stay with her.

      Martin couldn’t really say no to her now she wasn’t living in that grotty council flat and it might cheer her up, because although she’d never said as much he could tell she was feeling down. If she had her kids to stop it also might mean she would drink a little less. He felt bad for checking up on her, but he counted the empty bottles every morning in the recycling.

      It was none of his business what she did and he knew this, but he liked her. If he was honest with himself, there was something about her that he found very attractive and he didn’t want to see her throwing her life away. She had so much to live for – plus he kind of felt responsible for her now he was seeing her every day. The poor woman was even lonelier than him and he’d thought he had it bad.

      He was surprised to see the same number of bottles as yesterday and was secretly pleased, until he got to the kitchen and saw the empty vodka bottle on the table. Bollocks. He walked down to her room. It wasn’t like her not to already be up and pottering around. Then again, he was early and it looked like she’d hit the hard stuff last night.

      Lifting his hand to knock on her door, he stopped mid-air. What are you, her father? This is none of your business, Ollie, so keep out of it. Instead he listened at the door for any sign of life. He heard a gentle snore and the bed creak as she moved. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was sleeping in and then he stepped back and walked away.

      This was well and truly overstepping the mark. It was beyond their working relationship and he felt like a dirty old man for even thinking about her like that. Instead he went back to the kitchen where he began to make some toast and a pot of tea, banging around loudly and hoping she’d wake up.

      As he finished setting the teapot on the table, he turned and jumped to see her standing there yawning. She was wearing a pair of mismatched pyjamas. Her hair was tousled and sticking up and she didn’t have a scrap of make-up on. She looked so sexy. Mortified, he had to turn away before she noticed what a funny shade of red his face had turned.

      ‘What time is it?’

      ‘I’m early. It’s only eight o’clock. I thought I’d get started on that second bedroom. I wanted to make a big difference today.’

      ‘Thanks, Ollie, that’s really kind of you.’ Kate sat down, putting her head in her hands.

      Ollie poured her a mug of tea out and passed her some toast. As he reached over he caught a whiff of her perfume. It was the same one his wife had worn. Funny how he’d never noticed that before. Then again, he’d never been in such close proximity to Kate in her pyjamas either. Normally they were both covered in plaster dust and muck. She sipped the tea and picked up a slice of toast, nibbling on the